He Stole More Than Gold
by lunix.renegade
Summary: After waiting for England, America decides to explore England's house and finds more than what he bargained for. After being transported to the middle of an ocean and saved by PIRATE!England, sparks begin to fly between the superpower & the pirate empire.
1. Chapter 1

Lunix: I don 't get around to writing many stories, but I have a few running through my head that I want to try to get onto paper. This is one of them. I… Hope you enjoy. Reviews are appreciated. On a second note, I should say it right now. I don't like how America is _constantly _portrayed as an idiot. When I write for Alfred/America, I will still try to remain true to his character, but he is not going to be a constant idiot.

Disclaimer: I, Lunix Renegade, Renegade Knight of the Lunar Realm, do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or any of the characters here in recognized save a few characters of my own creation.

TITLE: He Stole Much More than Gold

PAIRING: England/America

Alfred smirked as he snuck through the house. Arthur was out for the morning and Alfred was becoming quite bored with the lack of entertainment. There was only so much "BBC" he could bear to watch without going out of his mind… and after the 2nd straight hour of "Monty Python's Flying Circus", he was indeed starting to lose what was left of his sanity. Alfred couldn't think of anything more entertaining than to explore England's house. It was a long time since he was last there and he was curious as to what was new. As he reached the top of the rich colored stairs, he reached the dark hallway that led to bedrooms, a bathroom, and a few rooms that Arthur had stressed that he never was to enter unless under dire circumstances.

"Well", Alfred mused, "Losing my sanity is a dire circumstance, I would say.. It's not good for heroes to lose their sanity after all!". He grinned as he walked towards one rich, yet plain-looking mahogany door that he was forbidden to enter. Reaching a hand to the brass door-knob, he briefly wondered if this was such a good idea after all… but his curiosity won out in the end, and Alfred proceeded to enter the room.

On first glance, one would say the room was sparsely decorated. Second glance would say otherwise. The walls were cream with mahogany trim along the top and the bottom of the wall. The curtains were rich, red velvet. There was a double door mahogany wardrobe on the farthest wall of the room, and on the walls there were paintings everywhere. In the middle of the room, to the right of the doorway he stood in, was an ancient looking desk, covered in what looked like maps and a couple of photographs. A couple of charting tools were scattered on the desk as well. To the left of the doorway was a sofa table made of the same wood as everything else in the room. Resting on it was a golden telescope looking object, a compass, a couple of books, a beautiful looking quill, and in the middle of the table was an ornate saber on a display.

Alfred slowly walked into the room, unwittingly holding his breath. What was this place? He admired the saber for a moment before looking up at the painting hanging right above it. What he saw took his breath away completely. Before him was England… a painting of England… But it wasn't how he normally looked. Oh no…

The painting was of England in clothes one would normally see someone wear on a ship during a hard day's work. He was standing at the bow of the ship, one leg up, resting on a crate, staring through his telescope at the horizon of water. His white shirt was billowing in the wind, and his khaki colored pants seemed to form to his skin. His boots were knee high. He looked like a strong and brave pirate captain indeed. Alfred, resumed breathing after a few moments, smiling softly. So this was England. He went to turn around to look more around the room and every which where were paintings of former rulers of England. Boring… he turned to the wall with the door on it, and his jaw dropped to the floor, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

Hanging before Alfred was a life size painting of England in full pirate regalia. The man looked so lifelike and real before him. The oils held that visage perfectly, and Alfred couldn't help but wonder… Before him was England in his red pirate outfit with the gold buttons and the black trim. His left hand was holding the saber he was looking at earlier, and the right hand looked prepared to draw the blade. Perched on his head was a large black pirate hat, decorated wonderfully… his hair was messy as always, and there were the ever present eyebrows… but under them… England's eyes held within their glassy green depths a mischievousness that Alfred had never seen from the older nation before. Alfred could almost swear that those eyes were following him as he moved closer to the painting… but that was silly. Paintings can't watch someone…. But what seemed to make the picture all the more real was the cocky smirk that was on England's face. It spoke volumes.

Alfred couldn't breathe as he stared up at England's painted face. As he moved into 'eyesight' of the painting, he swore he saw the painting's eyes begin to _glow_. Impossible… it had to be a trick of the light… but something he couldn't deny to himself. This side of England he had never seen before was something to be admired indeed. The dangerous… sexy pirate captain that England once was would forever be ingrained into his memory.

Vaguely, Alfred wondered if Arthur still had his pirate outfit, before suddenly remembering the wardrobe behind him that he had yet to look through. With one last glance at the painting, Alfred reluctantly looked away from that magnificent piece of art. He crossed the room and now stood before the wardrobe. Would those clothes still be in here?

Opening the door, he couldn't help but smile, for hanging inside the wardrobe was indeed the same rich red coat, the billowy white shirt and the pants… On the floor of the wardrobe were those knee high boots… and up on the top above the hangar bar was a place for hats, and indeed it was, the magnificent tri-corn hat was resting there.

He knew he shouldn't touch… he absolutely knew it.. but he just couldn't help it. He reached out to touch the coat… and at the same time, two things happened… one, England- the real one- burst through the door. "AMERICA! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Two, the portrait behind him... the eyes began to Glow brighter. The bright emerald/lime color brushed over the surprised America as he went to turn around, and in a bright flash of green, he disappeared.

England, in the doorway, covered his eyes to shield them from the flash. When he removed his hand, he noticed the absence of the stupid, lovable git he had raised. He let out a shaky breath. He glanced over at the portrait.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" growled Arthur at his portrait. The eyes seemed to narrow on the painting. Memories began to flood Arthur, and he blushed. "Bloody hell." He whispered as he turned to look at the small picture frame on his map table. It was obviously of Alfred… how did he not notice that before? "That… That git better keep himself safe. He better…" he sighed, glared up at his portrait, and stalked out of the room. He would wait for America's return… but first he needed a cup of tea…. Or perhaps some brandy. This was going to be a long wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Lunix: A big thank you to all of you who reviewed and/or put alerts on and/or favorited this story so far. Your feedback gives me the motivation to go on.

Disclaimer: I still do not own Hetalia.

Chapter Two

Red, white and black billowed in the wind as a man stood before the golden wood of a ship's railing. Short blonde hair fluttered in the breeze as vivid green eyes overlooked the sparkling blue Atlantic Ocean. Salty mist hit the man's pale skin, sending a refreshing feeling through his body. This was Captain Kirkland, also known as the British Empire, and the leader of the English Pirates.

Captain Kirkland gazed over the horizon as the sun began to rise to signify the beginning of a new day. The night crew would be going to rest soon. He was up early due to anticipation, but to what, he didn't know. A smirk slowly appeared on his face as it began to be lit with the orange sunlight that also reflected itself off of the water below. This would indeed be a good day, he thought. He was soo deep in his thoughts that a frantic shout brought him into awareness with a jolt.

"MAN OVERBOARD!" Shouted a man named Hanson, a deck hand. Arthur turned around and quickly made his way to the side of the ship where Hanson was standing, beginning to get together a rope. The sight he saw was of a blonde man floating, unconcious in the water, klinging to a broken piece of wood. The rest of the crew awake at the time pitched in together to work quickly on getting the unconcious man onto the ship.

Now that the man was laying on the deck of his ship, England was indeed able to see his guest more clearly. He was breathing strongly despite having been stuck floating on a piece of flotsam for who knows how long. The lad seemed to be a strong, muscular man. His blonde hair stuck to his head due to the salt water he had been in. He was dressed quite strangely too... Such flimsy and strange material comprised the man's top, and strange, rugged blue material comprised his leggings. Oddly enough, Arthur noted, the lad's spectacles had managed to stay on his face throughout the entire ordeal. The captain knelt next to the unconcious man and studied his features for a minute or two, and to his surprise, the man before him stirred long enough to crack his eyes open. Hazy, but vividly bright blue eyes were what Arthur saw. The man seemed to struggle to focus, but once he did, those vivid eyes were trained on the red clad captain... and strangely enough the man smiled.

"Artie..." he murmured before dropping back into the sweet oblivion of unconciousness. England's face showed his confusion before contorting into a scowl. Who was his lad? How did he know him? The pirate did not like to be confused. England stood up with a growl.

"Put 'im in me cabin. I'll deal with 'im meself." The crew hastened to comply... leaving England alone to stare off at the horizon again. What the hell was going on?

Back in modern day, England was in the middle of pouring himself a brandy. He chuckled to himself as he remembered his crew first pulling Alfred out of the water. How confused the lad had made him... and the worst part of it was that the lad seemed to refuse to gain conciousness again until the next morning. He remembered pacing the deck of the ship for those hours, trying to figure out if he knew that unconcious lad from somewhere, and when night fell, he retired to his cabin and sat there at his desk, resting his head against his hand as he watched the unconcious man sleep.

Taking a sip of the brandy, he couldn't help but smile. It was not a pleasant first meeting, that was for sure.

When the first light hit Alfred in the eyes, he winced and opened his eyes. Where was he? He took in his surroundings. It was relatively dark in the room he was in. He couldn't see much. Dark wood made up all the walls and the celing and the floor. He could hear the sound of the ocean, and the gentle side to side rocking motion that came with being on a ship. He recognised that he was now sitting upright in a bed of white linen... but he couldn't see much but the blurry colors. In a blind panic, Alfred began to pat around his immediate area to try and find Texas, and eventually his hand landed on a bedside 'table' that held his precious state. He quickly put them on his face and sighed in relief. Now able to see, he looked around his surroundings once again. He could see that there were some large windows to the back wall that were spattered somewhat with dried salt-water. Looking farther to the left, he saw a desk and chair in the shadows of the room, and focusing further he noticed two bright green eyes were watching him in veiled amusement and curiousity.

"Yo," America called out. "Dontcha know its creepy to watch a dude when he's sleeping?" The man stood up and with heavy footsteps, walked into the light. America's eyes widened as he recognised who it was before him. Hell, his fashion might have changed, but there was no way in hell he would ever forget that messy head of blonde hair, and those large, furry 'brows. America's eyes sparkled. "Oh man! I'm sooo glad you found me, man! How'd you find me all the way out here?" America blurted out in his loud, obnoxious voice. "Damn, dude. What are you doing in those clothes? I thought they were relics or something!"

Captain Kirkland through all this only ended up getting more and more confused. From this git's rambling, it sounded like he honestly knew him, yet England could swear that he never met this git in his life. His confusion turned to anger quickly, and America could see those green orbs narrow, and burn with the barely contained flames of anger.

"Ye seem ta know me, boy." growled the pirate captain. " Who are ye? How be it that ye know me?" The blue eyed man blinked up at at England with a look of confusion.

'England doesn't recognise me? Why? What the hell happened? Why was he talking like that?' he looked around again with his eyes, remembering the green flash that was the last thing he remembered before being transported to... where ever here is...

"Answer, boy! I have nae got all day." England roared as he pulled out his sword. Alfred gulped.

"I.. I..." he was taken aback... then his eyes narrowed as he got up. "Who am I? Who the fuck are you to go 'round waving a fucking sword at me?" England's green eyes burned with rage as Alfred blue eyes turned as cold as artic ice.

"I would nae annoy me too much, lad, lest I cut ye where ye stand." Hissed the irate captain, raising his blade so the point of the sword was in line with the american's throat. The american just let out a growl and knocked the blade away from his throat and went to punch the brit. This ignited a scuffle that kicked up a cloud of dust. Eventually, England over-powered America, pinning him down on the floor of the cabin, his eyes glowing in triumph.

"Ye were sayin', boy? Who be ye, an' how do ye seem ta know me?"

America's eyes widen as realization hits him like a ton of bricks. 'He sounds just like Captain Jack Sparrow!' He let out a loud laugh, and all of his anger seems to melt away. His more rational side however recognised that he would have to answer this time around. From the dialect England was using, and how he didn't seem to recognise him, he guessed that he had some how ended up in the past... what he didn't know was if England ever traveled to the New World yet and met... younger Alfred. Either way, he would have to use a new name.

England looked taken aback by the man's sudden, raucous laughter. "What in bloody blazes are ye laugh'n at now?" he hissed. Was the man he pulled out of the water a lunatic? The man pinned underneath him shook his head negative, and grinned brightly up at him.

"Howdy, man. I'm Alexander. Friends call me Al." England raised one giant, furry brow. This man seemed full of surprises. First, he seems to recognise him, then attacks him, now is saying hello like the two of them had never been involved in the brawl in the first place!

"Be that so?" grumbled the captain. "An' how be it that ye know me, lad? Ye said... a version o' me name." He winced at the loud laughter that boomed from the man once again.

"Dunno. What did I call ya?" The american spoke with a southern drawl, that confused the englishman to wonder just where in blazes the man he pulled from the water had come from.

"Ye called me 'Artie', in which I must say. Do nae ev'r call me that again, lad." the brit replied, eyes narrowed to show his seriousness in the matter.

"Can't tell. Y'all seem to resemble someone I used to know..." said Alfred with a hum. He wasn't lying, per say... just ommiting certain things. "I call him Artie, cuz his name is Arthur.. damn stuffy name too."

The pirate looked affronted. "I'll have ye know that Arthur happens tae be me name as well, boy. Ye'd do well tae not insult it." To his utter bewilderment, the lad beneath him shrugged his shoulders and replied in a flippant, bored tone of voice.

"Hey, man. Just sayin'. 's my opinion." he then grunted. "Hey Arthur. Can ya get off me?"

England's face goes impassive as he warily gets up. Alfred rolls backwards somewhat and then forward, launching himself up into a standing position.

"Thanks, dude. Ya know, for your small size, you sure are heavy..." England glares at him again.

"Is that really how ye be thank'n the ones who saved yer sorry arse from th' unforgivin' sea, boy?" America shrugged.

"Soooo. Where are we goin'?" England looked over at America with a look of distrust.

"Ye shall see when we get there."

"Aww. No Fair!" England rolled his eyes.

"Come, boy. Ye are ta be doin' work if'n ye ar' ta stay onboard, got that?"

"Savvy." said America with a cocky grin. "Just leave it to the hero... what do you need done?"

"You'll see."


	3. Chapter 3

Lunix: Thank you again for all your feedback. I'm a tad disappointed in my writing of the second chapter. I hope this is better. Once again, your reviews are appreciated. Short one today. My apologies.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Chapter Three.

A couple of hours later found America swabbing the deck of a fairly large, and quite beautiful pirate ship. Its wood glistened in the sunlight where he finishes mopping an area. Alfred couldn't help himself, and paused for a moment in his work to look up at the sky. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he focuses on a couple of seagulls flying high overhead. That, he thought, was the best example of freedom he could ever think of. The white birds swerved and dove around through the clear blue skies that were sparsely dotted with beautiful, puffy, white cumulus clouds. A perfect day. He could hear the waves crash gently against the ship as the ship steadily moved forward, pushed by the power of the wind against the sails, and that alone. It had been a long time since Alfred had seen something like that... it was something that, despite it taking forever now to get to their destination, could never be replaced... The best way to put it was that it created in him a sense of peace.

After a couple more moments, Alfred began to, once again, continue on with his work. It was almost done, he mused. Not too much more. A couple minutes pass as he slowly makes his way towards the steps that lead to the helm. A slight rustle of fabrics breaks him out of his reverie. Looking up at the helm, he sees Captain Kirkland in his full regalia. The brit stands distinguishedly as he steers his ship on the high seas. His face was calm and impassive, but thoes eyes of his... those green eyes almost sparkled with joy at the sheer freedom and adventure it brought to sail the seas. Indeed, Alfred knew England long enough to recognise some things in regard to mood. He finished up the deck and climbed the stairs to the helm, swabbing as he rose. England trained an eye on America.

"Ye seem ta be adjustin' well, I'd say." said England softly. America, now on the same ground as the captain, nodded.

"Yeah. Its not so bad." he grinned his dopey grin. "'sides, what kind of hero can't even mop floors correctly?" America continues mopping. England's eyebrow rose. The american had called himself a hero again.

"Ye paused whilst ye were swabbin', Lad. What be on yer mind?" A splash is heard behind England as America seems to have almost slammed the mop into the bucket of water.

"Freedom." England turned at that one. He fixed America with a level stare.

"Aye?" his voice was wary. The american waved his hands for a moment, leaning against the stern railing.

"Not from here, man." he sighed and looked up at the sky. "I feel like the ultimate freedom is flying. Like those birds, up there in the sky... Their lives consist of going where the wind takes them, and the only thing they need worry about is food, which..." he trails off as one of the seagulls dive into the water and pluck a fish out of the sea like nothing was to it. "... seems to be in abundance for them. Thats freedom."

England's eyes soften. "Aye. Like the sea is fer me and me crew." The american, now beginning to focus on the Captain again, hums in a way of asking for clarification. England turned back to face the direction he was having the ship head.

"Ye said the sky is tae be the ultimate freedom for ye, aye?" When the lad nodded, England continued. "For me, this 'ere ship be freedom. Goin' from port tae port, naught but the salty sea air, an' th' blue ocean below, whilst 'ere on me ship. Only worry be ta do me duty an' crush the bloody frogs and th' bloody Spanish Armada. Aye. This be my freedom." America nodded.

"Yeah. Sounds about right. You love the sea, I love the skies. I can't wait for the day when I can finally fly." America said with a slight smile on his face, and in his mind he added 'Again'. England nodded. It seemed that he and the lad found common ground.

"Th' sun is going tae set soon. Th' cook be finishin' dinner now." said the Captain as he looked up at the sky himself. "I had an 'ammock strung up in me quarters fer ye, lad."

"Thanks man."


	4. Chapter 4

Lunix: Once again, thank you for all of your feedback. … Um. I want to do a poll. Who do you want England to be sailing the ship to meet. Shall he go attack France? Spain? OR…. Should he be on his way to visit little America in the new world? Please let me know!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Chapter Four.

Alfred went below deck to get his supper. The cook grunted as he saw the new man aboard the ship. He was an older man. He didn't have much muscle to him, so it looked more or less like it was his sole duty to handle the kitchens. He shook his greying head and hobbled over to a couple of plates. He grabbed both and shoved them into Alfred's hands.

"Take th' captain 'is dinnah, boy," the old man grumbled. "Larger plate be for 'im." Alfred nodded and disappeared back up to the deck. He balanced the plates well as he climbed the stairs up to the helm where England still stood, steering the ship to their destination.

"Dinner time, Arthur," Alfred sang. England scowled for a moment, but then took the plate from America.

"Thank ye, boy," murmured the pirate captain. England set the food on the barrel that rested next to him, and proceeded to feed himself, keeping one hand on the wheel, while using the other to bring food to his mouth. Alfred hopped up onto the railing near England that overlooked the rest of the ship and proceeded to dig into his food.

Yuck. Apparently British food COULD actually be worse. Alfred quickly turned his head away to hide his grimace. Even his own England could make better scones than this. What was this food substance anyways? He poked it with his fork and suppressed a yelp when he thought it shuddered at the touch of the prodding fork. Hmm… speaking of moving things…

England, at least in his own time, was heavily into the occult and magic and all that junk. Maybe this England could help him get back to his own time!

"Do you… y'know…"

"Yes, lad?" America jumped at the sudden, quick reply from England.

"Um… ah…" Alfred moves his hands in whimsical patterns that seem to have no meaning, having been caught off guard, until finally he makes a hand sign that looks like fluttering wings. "Erm…"

"Looks like ye be tryin' tae ask 'bout faeries, boy." The Pirate Captain rose an eyebrow. "I dinnah know ye be intrested in 'em." Alfred shrugged and looked around. He knew it was dangerous to mention magic. Witch hysteria and all that jazz. Captain Kirkland sighs.

"PRENTICE! Get over 'ere an' take over th' helm!" he calls out. A man wearing a torn shirt comes running over and grabs the wheel from the captain. England then turns to Alfred. "Come, lad."

They enter the captain's cabin. Neither feels comfortable to talk just yet, so both begin their rituals of getting ready to retire. America just pulls off his pants and hops into the hammock, wearing just his boxers and his t-shirt. He pulled the blanket up around his waist and leaned back into the pillow he was given. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see England carefully pulling off his uniform and hanging it up with equal care. Finally, he was down to his night-shirt and he went and sat in his bed.

"Ye were int'rested in faeries?" England said, breaking the ice.

"Um… more along the lines of magic… D'ya think its possible for magic to take someone from their home and deposit them... oh I dunno. In the middle of an ocean?" asked Alfred hesitantly. England turned his head to look at America, curiosity shining within his green eyes.

"Possible. Why, lad. Did sommat like that 'appen to ye?" answered Arthur, quietly. Alfred shrugged his shoulders.

"Mmh… More like I was over at Artie's house. I was looking at some old stuff that he had collected… Pictures and the like…" Alfred paused to think. "I remember he burst into the room and yelled at me for being in the room in the first place… but at the same time, something started glowing green. Next thing I know, I'm struggling to stay afloat in the middle of the fuckin' ocean in the middle of a storm!" Alfred shook his head and Arthur stayed quiet in thought.

"When did ye say we were from?" Alfred's head shot up.

"Ah? Ehh? UH?" he said intelligently. England rolled his eyes and rested his head on his hand, elbow propped up on his knee.

"Lad, yer clothes stick out like a Frenchman in an English Pub. 'T ain't like any fashion I've seen."

"Eh heh heh…." Alfred nervously chuckles as he sticks his hand back to scratch at his neck. "Right." He sighed. "I'm from the year 2011." England sighed.

"Lad, this be a right mess ye got yerself into." The pirate looked at the end of his bed. A water fairy was standing there, giggling. "but, I tell ye what… I'll help ye get back to yer own time." A soft thunk was the only warning Arthur got before he found himself with an armful of very ecstatic Alfred who flew at him and proceeded to glomp him. "GYAHH! You GIT! What do ye think ye're doing?" screeched the Pirate Captain, his face suddenly becoming as red as his trademark coat. His green eyes flashed in panic and fury.

"Thank you Arthur! Thank you so much!" came the muffled reply as Alfred spoke into his chest. England's eyes soften. The lad must really miss home.

"No problem, Lad. Now go get some sleep. 'Tis a long day tomorrow."

"AYE AYE CAP'N!" grinned Alfred as he bounced back to his hammock and leapt up into the 'bed', falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Arthur blinked as he suddenly heard snores coming from the other side of the cabin. He got up and walked over to the man, covering him with the blanket that fell on the floor from his bounce into the hammock. An unintelligible murmur came from Alfred as he snuggled into the warmth provided by the blanket. England's eyes glowed. This lad had enraptured him. He lifted a hand and caressed one of Alfred's cheeks before grinning.

Oh yes, the lad would be his before he had to return. He'd make sure of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Lunix: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! Where in the name of Iggy's union jack underpants have I been? Look, its not the time for excuses, but yeah. I had finals, then summer classes at the local college, and in the meanwhile, I brainstormed, but practically forgot all about my beloved story! L I'm so sorry! I hope this will make up for the long gap. Its short, unfortunately, but this is how the story just ended up being broken up.

Chapter Five:

The horizon had just begun shining with the beautiful golden light of a new day, and the gentle waves crashing against the ship rocked the vessel to-and-fro. The peaceful calls of Gulls overhead could be heard by those of the night shift as they prepared to waken the day crew. The peace was not to last.

The crewman in the crow's nest started in shock, words unable to escape his parched throat for a moment…

"SHIP INCOMING! FLYING FRENCH COLORS!"

All hell broke loose.

Alfred shot upright at the sound of the racket coming from outside. In his jolt, he forgot where he was, and the hammock overturned with him in it. He crashed to the floor, a tangle of limbs and blankets.

"Ughhh…" he groaned as he sat upright, rubbing his head gingerly. He then took notice of Arthur who was throwing his clothes on with great speed. "Hey… Capt….? What's going on?" The pirate captain turned a critical eye on Alfred.

"Th' bloody FROGS. Th' French be on our tails, lad." He hissed and grabbed his sword and hurried onto deck. Alfred moved to follow.

"What be going on?" murmured Simon, a crewman from the night shift. "They aren't firing!" The pirates had prepared their cannons in case of a fight… but the French ship just pulled up beside the pirates'. The next thing anyone knew, a flamboyant looking blonde man stood on the English Pirate's deck.

"Ohhonhonhonhonhon!" Alfred winced right alongside of Arthur. He recognized that sound anywhere. "Look it here! Ez Angleterre and his crew! Where are you going?"

"None tha' be o' yer concern, Frog!" Arthur hissed.

"Alas, mon dieu…. Zat is too bad, non?" Francis shook his head mockingly. "My king asked moi to head to ze New World! I am to get l'Amerique from your brutish 'ands, oui?" Two things happened at that.

First, Arthur drew his sword and started screaming great insults at the Frenchman. Secondly, Alfred began to cough and sputter.

"There be no way I'm goin' tae let ye have MY boy!" he screamed in anger.

"Oui, oui, I know… You shall cut moi where I stand if I ever even think of touching even a strand of 'is golden 'air. You are 'opeless." France said sarcastically and ending with a laugh. His eyes then fell on Alfred. "Oh? And who is zis?" he purred as he sidled up to Alfred who turned bright red, eyes wide with shock. "Such an 'andsome young man! What are you doing 'ere wiz zis brute?" His hand began to wander.

Suddenly, Frances was sent flying across the deck of the ship! Arthur stood there, fist clenched, and slowly moved out of his attacking stance, retaking his sword in his right hand and advancing on Francis, whispering in a low, dark, and evil voice.

"Don' be expectin' tae live too much longer, Frog. Noone touches what's mine an' lives tae tell th' tale o' it… Noone!" He then launched himself into an attack against Francis, his sword flashing silver in the early morning sun- intent on cutting the fallen Frenchman down.

A rapier met his blade, however, and thus began a short battle on the deck of the English ship as the Frenchman got pushed closer to the edge of the ship. Suddenly, he grabbed a rope and disappeared, swinging back over to his ship!

"I shall see you in the New World, Oui?" he then said with a laugh.

"I won't allow it!" England hissed and pulled out his pistol, firing a shot straight at France who dodged.

The Frenchman just laughed as his ship began to pull away.

"Try and stop me, oui?"

England hissed again and turned to his crew.

"Set sail for th' New World!" he yelled, eyes ablaze with fury. "Double yer efforts, lads! We must get there before th' Bloody French!"

He then grabbed hold of Alfred's collar and drug him back into his cabin.


End file.
